


Good Taste

by HappinessIsBlau



Series: Fallout 4 Daily Writing Prompt Fills [21]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, they'd bond over their love of literature ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappinessIsBlau/pseuds/HappinessIsBlau
Summary: She brought out a book -- in amazingly good condition except for the yellowing of the pages. It was dog-eared and obviously well loved. She carried it over to him and he took it from her, fingers tracing the cover.





	Good Taste

**Author's Note:**

> I'm showing my cards a bit here with Sophia's taste in literature, but I think it is fair game since I obviously chose the Railroad as the main faction (and the Minutemen as my secondary faction, of course) in my playthrough with Sophia. So like, yeah. 
> 
> Also, I feel like Deacon would read anything that he could get his hands on, no matter what it was. He's just that dang desperate for a book, dangit. The apocalypse would be hell for me too for the same reason.

“I always hated Nietzsche,” Sophia noted quietly, chopping up a tato on a makeshift cutting board with her hunting knife. 

Deacon raised his eyebrows past his glasses and looked at her over the pages of his newest (and barely waterlogged!) book. He glanced at the cover and then back at her and frowned. 

“Let me just go to the bookstore and return it for another. What would you recommend, as the president of the book club?” 

She snorted and shook her head, not once looking up from her task even as Deacon put a bookmark between the pages of his newest find and returned it to the spot in his pack. He got up from his seat and stretched -- as much as he enjoyed reading, it was getting too dark in Taffington Boathouse to read comfortably without straining his eyes. Even though the past week had been spent building concrete walls around the surrounding property, he still didn’t want to tempt fate by turning on a lantern and potentially attracting something big and mean that was curious enough to cause some damage just because it saw faint glowing. 

Sophia was still sitting close enough to the window to continue her task without risking her fingers. He watched as she cut the vegetable with practiced ease into tiny squares. She was so picky about the strangest things. When finally her task was complete, she walked over to her own pack and searched through it. She brought out a book -- in amazingly good condition except for the yellowing of the pages. It was dog-eared and obviously well loved. She carried it over to him and he took it from her, fingers tracing the cover. 

“Have you ever read Simone de Beauvoir?” 

“No,” Deacon answered earnestly, opening the book. On the first page, curled in faded writing: 

Sophia Barker  
September 14th, 2063

“It was a gift from my mother,” she told him. She’d never mentioned her mother before. “She was a complicated woman. I can’t say I miss her. She did have excellent taste in literature, though. Anyway, keep the book. I hope you like it. Oh, and don’t worry -- it’s the English translation.” 

Deacon could read French, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he opened it up and flicked on the lantern beside him. 

He’d risk trouble for this.


End file.
